


SSJ 2020

by M_D_Wilson



Category: SSF, Super Science Friends
Genre: Albert gets a pet, Dadsla, Gen, Literary References, M/M, SSJ 2020, boy needs a pet, welcome all to this fuckery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:40:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24500971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_D_Wilson/pseuds/M_D_Wilson
Summary: Here’s my SSJ 2020 collection! I’ll try to post everything the day of, but I might fall behind here and there. Enjoy another month of nonsense from me!
Relationships: Carl Jung/Nikola Tesla, Electric Sleep
Comments: 8
Kudos: 22





	1. Friendship

**Author's Note:**

> Friendship: In which Albert and Darwin discover they have something unlikely in common, and bond over it.

It rained a lot in London. For as long as Albert had been able to remember, it seemed that a gray, cold drizzle of rain seemed to hang over the city indefinitely. Just enough to give him a chill if he had to go out in it, but not enough to be more than a mild upset in his day. Sometimes, when the older teammates would settle down for their noon cuppa and the daily newspaper, he’d even sneak out to play in the rain. 

That was what he’d been preparing for when the first bolt of lightning lit up the sky. He stared out his window, transfixed as the people below went scurrying for cover. Was it okay to play in a lightning storm? Albert could vaguely remember Marie Curie once warning against it, after forcing him inside when lightning started up. Still, his legs ached from being cooped up in the Clock Tower all day. Restless energy left his skin crawling and itching. The cool rain would soothe his feverish skin, scratch the itch nothing else could. Cool rain and the breeze on his skin... 

_ Thunder boomed and shook the Clock Tower. _

Albert jumped, unable to stop himself from letting out a yelp of fright at the sudden loud noise. He felt foolish for doing so, and shook his head. Loud noises were normal. Loud noises were a part of life. He couldn’t act like… Like a damned scaredy-cat every time he heard a loud noise! Even as he thought that, though, he moved away from the window and back to his bed. He crawled up under the covers and shivered. 

“Stupid… S-stupid kid,” he whispered, cringing as another wave of thunder rolled through. God, he  _ hated  _ it. It was loud, unpredictable, and it always seemed to shake the building! How did everyone else handle it? Albert was the only one who had this strong of a reaction to the noise, everyone else either felt indifferent about it or loved it. He tried to push that out of his head. Thinking about how normally the others reacted to it only made him feel worse for reacting so strongly to it. He curled in on himself, fighting back the sudden stinging in his eyes that preluded tears. 

The door to his bedroom creaked open. Albert peaked out from under the covers, tears slowly sliding down his reddened cheeks as he looked for whoever it was that had come in. He didn’t see anyone. 

“H-hello?” he called, his voice a watery croak as he began crying in earnest. He was answered by a hesitant meow. He sat up, confusion clouding his face as he gazed down at a grey Maine Coon. Thunder shook the Clock Tower again, and the cat’s eyes widened before he jumped up into the bed. “... Darwin?” Albert asked. The cat meowed back at him, looking strangely sheepish for an animal. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” he asked. The cat meowed again, and lightly butted his head against Albert’s stomach. 

Albert situated the covers so the cat could settle in his lap. He was... Heavy. For a cat, at least. Heavy and warm. Darwin closed his eyes and began kneading his paws against the cover. Albert’s eyes widened as he began purring, and he slowly pet the cat’s back. 

“Do the loud noises scare you, Darwin?” Albert asked. The cat paused his kneading, let out a soft meow that sounded like an agreement, and resumed kneading. “Makes sense, I guess. Stuff must be really loud when you’re that small,” he commented. He leaned back against his headboard, and let out a relaxed sigh. “... It’s okay. The thunder scares me too,” Albert admitted. The cat moved and put his paws on Albert’s shoulders. He stared at him a moment, then rubbed his face against the boy’s wet cheek. Albert giggled, the fear from earlier slowly dissipating. He pet the cat around his face, admiring his long whiskers a moment before he scratched between his ears. 

He wasn’t really sure how much time passed like that. He just knew that it felt nice to know that someone else was scared, even if it was only because that someone else was a cat. The worst of the storm rolled through London, and soon they were only left with the rain. Albert’s eyes became heavy. He struggled to keep them open as he listened to Darwin purr. Eventually, they fluttered shut, and he drifted off to sleep… 

“... What are you doing?” Churchill asked, startling the pair from their impromptu nap. Darwin hissed at the leader, though it was hardly menacing when it came from a chubby, fuzzy cat.

“I-I got scared of the thunder, and Darwin visited to help me feel better,” Albert said. He pet Darwin absentmindedly, which seemed to be enough to soothe the grizzled cat. Churchill raised an eyebrow at the two, and coughed into his hand to hide his grin.

“Right… Just don’t be late for dinner. Tapputi made tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. Says it’ll help chase away the ‘rainy day blues’, or some such nonsense,” Churchill muttered. Albert nodded. Churchill lingered in the doorway a moment, then cleared his throat slightly. “Bring Charles with you on your way out. Cats get ornery when they aren’t fed,” he said. With that, he turned on his coattails and left the bedroom. Tapputi was waiting for him in the kitchen. 

“Where’s Chuck and the kid?” Tapputi asked, slicing the sandwiches diagonally. Churchill let out a short laugh, and shook his head. 

“Darwin must’ve turned into a cat to chase mice before the storm began,” he said. Tapputi’s eyes widened slightly, and she turned to give Churchill her full attention. 

“Did he get too scared to change back again?” she asked, worry creeping into her voice. A scared cat loose in the halls was  _ never  _ fun to deal with. 

“Suppose so. He went to hide in Albert’s room, and the boy kept him company well enough. They took a nap,” Churchill explained. 

“... You’re telling me Albert was able to keep Chuck from tearing up his curtains, or scratching a hole through his wall?” Tapputi asked. Churchill nodded. 

“Seems to me the two are good enough friends that blatant property destruction is out of the question,” Churchill grumbled. 

“Well, that’s good! Kid needed a friend, I guess a cat is good enough,” Tapputi said. She turned back to her bubbling soup cauldron. The two were silent a moment, the kitchen blissfully quiet until the rest of the team shuffled in. Tesla and Freud were arguing over something again, while Marie Curie seemed to be debating whether it would be worth it or not to punch them with her ring hand. A stern look from Churchill dispelled that notion. Darwin and Albert were the last to come in, both looking a little rumpled from sleep. Tapputi just shrugged and handed them their dinner. She was just happy enough that Darwin had managed to turn back into a human. 

_ She would definitely have to tease him later about being a literal scaredy cat, though.  _


	2. Reward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can a war trophy truly be called a reward when it only serves to remind someone of the pain the war has brought to their doorstep?

“... Why don’t you keep that old bloody thing?” Churchill suggested. Albert looked up at him, his eyes widening slightly as the team leader took the gun from him. “You’ll need lessons on properly handling it, of course, but every soldier needs a good war trophy,” he explained. Albert nodded, his body suddenly wracked with shivers. 

“We should be able to find help on this side of the country, ja?” Freud asked, clutching at his shoulder tightly. “Between the blood loss and the effects of being in the Dead Zone for so long, we’ll need it,” he added, grimacing in pain. Albert forgot about the war trophy, and looked his wounded teammates over. 

“Marie Curie?” he began. The team’s medic looked over at him, and offered up a weak grin. “You… You can heal them now, right?” he asked. Panic edged into his voice, and he had to blink back tears as the whole situation finally hit him. “You can heal yourself? You’re bleeding, k-kind of a lot, and I think you  _ really  _ need to heal yourself now,” he said, his words slurring together as he began to ramble. 

“Einstein, of course I’ll heal us,” Marie Curie said. Her typical stoic demeanor faltered, and she suddenly looked exhausted. She leaned against Darwin’s side heavily. “Just… Give me a second to catch my breath,” she added, wincing as she brushed her hand against the gunshot wound. “It’ll take more than a bit of fast metal to the chest to take me out,” she joked. 

“... That’s not funny at all,” Tapputi grumbled. The old woman’s signature complaint seemed to lighten the overall mood a little. While the reality of the situation still hung heavy on everyone’s shoulders, it was easier to shrug it off when there were jokes to be made. Marie Curie healed herself first, then handled the others. The only one who needed more thorough attention was Tapputi, since the bullet had no clean exit. She was lucky to escape with a shot to the shoulder, though, and Marie Curie assured her that she’d only need a few weeks in a sling for everything to heal properly. Tapputi took solace in the fact that it was  _ just  _ her right arm, and not her “useful arm”, a joke that had everyone but Freud rolling their eyes. Albert really didn’t want to know what the joke was. He was still intensely focused on everyone getting home and being patched up properly. 

_ It was easy to forget about the gun. _

That is, until his fifteenth birthday. Celebrating the day the original Einstein was born had felt too wrong to the team, so they decided to celebrate the day Albert came out the cloning vat. He’d been excited enough for it, and it had gone well as far as birthdays went. Marie Curie had gotten him a new pair of running shoes, ones that would better support his feet so he didn’t put too much strain on them. The little wing designs on the sides of the shoes weren’t practical, but she had shrugged her shoulders and said they looked nice. Tesla had given him a copy of his favorite book on bird keeping, then shared a not-so-secretive grin with Tapputi. She gave him a sack of bird feed, while Freud presented him with a metal cage. It was Darwin who brought the owl finch in. 

“Careful now, he’s flighty,” Darwin joked, winking at Albert as he gave him the bird. Albert watched in quiet awe as the finch perched on his finger, occasionally preening his wings. 

“We wanted to get you a dog, but Churchill said he didn’t have the time to train one to go outside to do its business,” Tapputi explained. Churchill just grunted in response, and puffed away at his cigar. 

“... Does he have a name yet?” Albert asked, holding his free hand out to the bird. He cocked his head to the side a moment, then lightly pecked at Albert’s palm. 

“No name! That honor goes entirely to the birthday boy,” Darwin said, patting him on the shoulder. “He’s a very smart bird, I’ve already got him trained to land on your hand,” he added. Albert nodded, his eyebrows furrowing as he thought over names. 

“Atticus!” he suddenly exclaimed. The bird twittered happily, and seemed to accept the name. 

“Atticus?” Darwin parroted. 

“Atticus Finch!” Albert decided, grinning as the little bird began to sing. “You said he’s smart, and Atticus just… Seems like a very smart name,” he said, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. 

“Oh! Darwin, put Atticus in his cage. There’s uh, one last gift,” Tapputi said, gesturing to the unwrapped box left on the table. Darwin nodded and whistled. Atticus flew back to him, and was put into his new cage without any fuss. Albert turned to Churchill expectantly, his eyes wide and a grin on his face as he looked the box over. 

“Here. There aren’t any bows or frills, but...” Churchill trailed off, and pushed the silver box towards Albert. He eyed the leader’s present curiously. He opened it carefully, and had to swallow back the bile that rose in his throat. “Every war trophy needs a decent case to display it in,” Churchill explained. Albert lifted the gun from the box, his gaze immediately pulled to that twisted symbol near the trigger. 

“... Thank you,” Albert said, tucking the gun back into the box. The shake in his hands was nearly imperceptible.  _ Nearly.  _ One teammate noticed, and gave a slight shake of his head. 

“Well! Herr Churchill, I believe it’s time to cut the cake,” Freud said, clapping his hands together excitedly. That drew everyone’s attention from the macabre present, and back to the simple cake Tapputi and Tesla had made. “Let me just...” Freud muttered, striking a match before he lit the fifteen red candles. “There! Don’t forget to make a wish,” he teased, waving the match until the flame died out. 

The team sang Albert the happy birthday song, and Albert plastered an awkward smile to his face while he sat through it. The song didn’t end fast enough. He closed his eyes tightly, thought of the one thing he wanted most in the world, and blew the candles out. Darwin served up slices of cake to everyone, and Albert’s smile felt genuine for the first time in a while. He bit into the cake and sighed. 

_ Maybe, he thought, his wish could even come true…  _

It didn’t. Albert enjoyed spending time with Atticus during the day. He took delight in teaching him new tricks, and feeding him the special treats Tapputi had made. He liked to listen to all the funny noises Atticus made. Darwin had explained what each sound meant, and Albert kept a small journal detailing the growth of his pet. During the day, Atticus kept him company when the others couldn’t. His chirps and occasional, strange meowing noises made decent background noise while Albert wrote a new chapter of his story. He could talk to Atticus all he wanted, without having to worry about Atticus telling anyone else what he’d said. During the day, Atticus made life in the Clock Tower feel that much more normal. 

At night, when Albert covered his cage so the bird could sleep, he was harshly reminded of how not normal his life was. He kept Churchill’s present in his closet, on the top shelf. He didn’t like to look at it. He was sure he was supposed to, though, and Churchill had insisted that he kept it. He tried to see it for what the team leader thought it was. His first war trophy, the tangible proof of his growth over the last year. The one thing that was supposed to outweigh all his previous failures. A reward from the universe. 

_ It didn’t feel like a reward. _

The gun served as a reminder of Philipp. Of a man who became terribly twisted over his hatred of the Super Science Friends, and allowed it to take control of his life. A man who had taken it upon himself to “right” the world of the wrongs it had done to him. The gun wasn’t a war trophy. It was... A tether. One that kept the vision of Philipp far too alive in Albert’s mind. A small, cold voice that seemed to have sprung up overnight would whisper to him and say that vision would never fully fade. That he would always remember the man with the red balloon, and the vitriol in his voice when he spoke to Albert. 

_ Albert tried to ignore that voice. _

He couldn’t keep the gun anymore. Not when he could see the moonlight gleam off the barrel at night, not when he could see that insignia of death peering at him from his closet. In the dark of the night, Albert managed to work up the courage to pull the gun off the shelf. He held it away from his body, as if it were something that could reach out and bite him. 

_ Maybe it could bite him. _

The sight of Philipp falling off the train, blood soaking through his shirt and staining his hand was all the proof Albert needed to know the gun could bite. The slight dip in Freud’s shoulder, now covered by scar tissue, that was proof. The gun could bite, and Albert had had enough of being bitten by the world. 

He gave the gun to Churchill.

“I can’t keep it anymore,” Albert said. Churchill raised an eyebrow at the boy, and took the metal box from him. “I... It reminds me of him, and I don’t...” he began, trailing off as he clenched and unclenched fists. 

“It’s fine, son,” Churchill said. Albert looked up at him, his eyes widening slightly and becoming glassy. “I’ll find a new spot for it somewhere. You didn’t really have enough room for the thing, anyways,” he added, patting Albert on the shoulder with his free hand. 

“Y-yeah, my closet is crowded,” Albert said, cracking a shaky half-smile at the team leader. He hesitated, his eyes still shining with unshed tears, and he gave Churchill a quick hug. Churchill blinked in surprise, then hugged him back. Affection didn’t come easy from Albert. Not that he had the best role models for that sort of thing, living with a bunch of old, stuffy scientists. He’d gladly take what the kid would give him. 

“... Suppose you should head off to bed now, my boy,” Churchill suggested. Albert pulled away from the hug, tears streaming down his face as he nodded. 

“Yeah, I guess I should...” Albert replied. The two lapsed into silence a moment, which was broken when Churchill cleared his throat. 

“Right! I’ll handle the...” he began, trailing off as he gestured vaguely at the box. “You handle getting to bed! You’ll need lots of sleep if you want to do any more growing up,” he continued, moving down the hall towards his bedroom. 

“Mr. Churchill?” Albert called. The man paused, and half-turned back toward the child. “... Thank you for taking it back,” he said, fidgeting with his hands a moment. “A-and not making a big deal about it,” he added, as if it were a quiet afterthought in his mind and not the one thing he’d feared the most. 

“... Thank you for telling me about it, Albert. It’s good to know you trust me enough to tell me these things,” Churchill replied. His voice had gotten strangely gruff, and he turned away. Albert took the hint and went back to his bedroom.

With the gun gone from his room, he felt… Better. Lighter, almost, as if a heavy weight had been lifted from off his shoulders. The reassurance from Churchill had helped plenty with that, he knew, but having the gun out of sight worked wonders for him. Albert was able to sleep soundly again, and fill his daytime with Atticus time. He no longer worried about the bogeyman in his closet. Atticus provided a sense of normalcy that nothing else in his life did.

_ Maybe that was the best reward he could have ever been given.  _


	3. Slumber

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two men who couldn’t be more different struggle to sleep at night. They find out they’re not as different as everyone would think they’d be.

Sleep was necessary to maintain adequate physical and mental health. Between seven and nine hours would be optimal, but any sleep was better than no sleep. So Jung told himself, night after night where three or four hours was all he could manage. The lack of proper sleep left him sluggish throughout the day. He struggled to keep his bloodshot eyes open, every single blink of his eyes a threat to drag him down into the realm of unconsciousness. He fought through the exhaustion with the feeble promise that this night would be the one he slept soundly. As his workday would draw to a close, energy would slowly seep back into his bones. By the time he arrived back at his flat, he would be wide awake. 

Attempts made at sleep proved futile. It infuriated Jung to no end that he couldn’t sleep. He’d lie awake in his bed, glaring up at his ceiling as he tried to count the seconds as they went by. There would be brief periods of sleep, thirty minutes here, a whole hour there, and then the sun would arise. Night after night, day after day, he slept less and less. He snapped at his receptionist more. He swore over the tiniest inconveniences. He always seemed to shiver, as if he’d been cursed with a chill that couldn’t be shaken off. He felt himself be driven mad by the lack of sleep. 

One night, when he’d had enough of staring up at his ceiling, Jung took to the streets of London. He walked without noting where he went, or of the dull pain in his legs. He simply walked on, unaware or uncaring of his state. Alone in the midnight streets of London. 

Well, not entirely alone.

Tesla didn’t like to sleep. It cut into his already limited free time. Between missions with the other Super Science Friends and his auditions for The Snake Pit, he had little time to himself. Little time for the simple pleasures in life. The midnight walks were his favorite, right after time with the pigeons. It gave him the chance to clear his mind. He could walk, all alone, and not meet a single person in the streets for miles. He carried a tattered umbrella in case it rained. When it did, he watched as the world took on a soft, almost magical glow. 

This was his time. 

Until it suddenly wasn’t.

Tesla had just arrived at a little plot of greenery when he bumped into Jung. He didn’t recognize him at first. Jung recognized him immediately though, and his eyes narrowed. 

“What are you prowling around London’s parks for?” Jung asked, a vague accusation hiding just beneath his words. 

“... Going for a walk. I wasn’t aware a late night walk was deserving of scrutiny,” Tesla replied, giving a little indignant sniff before he side-stepped Jung and began walking to his favorite bench. Jung followed. The sight of one of London’s heroes unnerved him. 

“It does when you’re renowned amongst the citizens for apprehending villains. Anyone with a brain would be nervous at the sight of you, alone at night,” Jung said. Tesla sat down on a weathered wooden bench, and let out a contented sigh as he looked up at the night sky. 

“... You’re that Swiss fellow Freud talks about, aren’t you?” he asked, finally recognizing the pencil mustache. Jung bristled, and stood next to the bench. 

“Perhaps I am. Perhaps I am not. I don’t take great pains to concern myself with what someone like Freud would say,” Jung said. Tesla laughed, the sound soft and strange in the dark. 

“You have to be Jung! He said you were paranoid beyond any reasonable measure,” Tesla said, smiling as he patted the empty space next to him. “Sit with me awhile, won’t you?” he asked. Jung sat down, his eyes trained on the lone superhero. 

“... To call my suspicions paranoia would suggest they are without warrant,” Jung muttered, leaning back slightly. Tesla only hummed in response. The lack of protest spurred Jung on. “If you were a civilian and saw one of the Super Science Friends out on the street, wouldn’t that worry you?” he asked. He didn’t give Tesla time to answer the question, though, and his speech quickened. “Where there is a superhero, there is often trouble! It makes sense, ja? Especially so late, when nobody in their right mind would be out!” he exclaimed. 

“Is that so?” Tesla asked, propping himself up on his elbow as he glanced at Jung. “Then what has put you in the wrong state of mind that you roam the streets of London so late?” he pressed. Jung tensed, his eyes widening and cheeks reddening as he processed what he’d said. 

“I could ask you the very same!” Jung retorted, crossing his arms. Tesla let out another quiet laugh, though this one seemed a little colder than the one from before. There was a subtle weakness to that laugh, and the psychiatrist pounced on it. “What is it that has one of London’s most brilliant minds up so late at night?” Jung asked, his words losing a little of their frigid bite to favor a warmer, softer tone. 

“... I asked first,” Tesla protested weakly.

“Forgive me if I don’t answer that question. Those in my line of work, as I’m sure you’re aware of, do the asking,” Jung said. Tesla scoffed and rolled his eyes. 

“Yes. I am very aware of the questions your type asks,” Tesla said, his words minced. Jung cocked an eyebrow at the inventor, a half-smirk curling at his lips. 

“You’ve spoken with Freud then, ja?” he asked. 

“I’ve spoken to him, he just speaks at people!” Tesla snapped, scowling as he sat up straight once more. 

“I take it your sessions with him aren’t very productive,” Jung guessed, his smirk turning into a grin at the disgusted noise Tesla let out. 

“He’s too focused on who I subconsciously want to bed to help me with any actual problems I could be facing!” Tesla said, waving his hands as he spoke. “Really, it’s just disgusting! He sees sex in everything,” he added. 

“Ah, the horrors of a man with sex aligned powers,” Jung said, shaking his head. Tesla heaved out a dramatic sigh, and looked back up at the sky. 

“... You know, you still didn’t say why you were out,” he said, relaxing back against the bench. “I simply needed a moment to breathe, and exist on my own. The Clock Tower is stuffy, and I can’t stand taking the stairs for my exercise all day,” he explained. Jung looked at the sky as well, though he found himself sneaking glances at the strange man next to him. 

“I… Can’t sleep well,” Jung finally admitted. “It eludes me, slipping farther and farther away the more I pursue it. I thought that a walk would at least tire me out physically, so I might manage a few hours,” he said. Tesla nodded slowly, eyes still fixated on the gently twinkling stars. 

“I don’t sleep much either. I don’t need to,” Tesla said. “... Suppose I don’t want to,” he added quietly, his face flushing. “It would keep me from my work, waste more time than I already waste with the frivolities that come with being human,” he said. 

“Ah, to be one that doesn’t need much sleep,” Jung mused, smiling wistfully. He had to stifle a sudden yawn, and realized with mild shock that he’d spent an hour outside. “... How do you recharge, if you don’t need much sleep?” he asked. 

“Recharge?” Tesla parroted. “My powers don’t really work like that,” he said, cracking a smile at the psychiatrist. 

“Not in a literal sense, of course!” Jung hurriedly exclaimed. “Metaphorically, how do you… How do you regain your strength to deal with the new day?” he asked. The question, now phrased in a way Tesla understood, gave him pause. Jung found himself staring openly at the other scientist. He noted the dark circles under his eyes, obscuring the fine wrinkles that became more obvious when Tesla smiled. It felt like a strange thing to be so aware of. Perhaps it was. Jung wasn’t exactly the sort to not notice those things, though, and he chalked it up to his medical training shining through. 

“I suppose it is the walks I take. The pigeons who keep my company. The… The handful of people whose company I enjoy,” Tesla admitted. He laughed, the sound warm and soft. It settled around them like a blanket, heavy and comforting in the cold night. Jung enjoyed it. Savored the presence of this strange man, who seemed to radiate warmth like the sun itself. “What of you, Dr. Jung?” he asked. Jung cleared his throat and pushed his glasses up on his nose. 

“What of me? What keeps me going?” Jung asked. Tesla gave a slight inclination of his head, his eyelids becoming heavy as he settled against the bench. “... Time alone, mostly,” he confessed. “I find that people wear me down. Strange, then, that I pursued a career based around people, isn’t it?” he asked, letting out a bitter laugh. 

“Not at all,” Tesla said. He had leaned over at some point, his shoulder pressed against Jung’s and their legs brushing together. “To be tired is to be productive. You work a job that tires you out, but one that helps others. It’s… Noble, I believe,” he said. 

“How so?” Jung asked. 

“It’s very selfless to go into a field that you know would exhaust you, since it would help those people. I couldn’t do the work you do,” Tesla answered. The two fell silent. Jung thought over all the patients he’d had over the years. The theories he’d written up after years of psychoanalyzing people. Freud. Freud’s theories, all so heavily rooted in sex. Freud’s theories, which were mostly praised by the public and only criticized by a small handful of contemporaries. Freud’s theories, which were seen as gospel truths while his theories were laughed out of any conference he attended. Jung sighed. 

“I don’t know how I do the work I do,” he admitted quietly. He snuck a glance at the inventor, surprised to find he’d fallen asleep against his shoulder. Jung smiled, exhaustion etching itself deep into every fine line and wrinkle in his face. “Suppose I don’t know how you do your work, either. Maybe it’s easier to invent and engineer things than it is to cure people of their mental ailments,” he said. He listened to the occasional call of a night bird, and the comforting song of the crickets nearby. He was struck by a beautiful melancholy, one that seemed to grip him tightly by the shoulders as they sat under the London sky. 

For once, Jung welcomed that melancholy with open arms.

“... It’s quite strange, you know,” Jung began, leaning back against Tesla. “I haven’t felt as sleepy as I do now in weeks. Tired, yes. Never sleepy,” he said. Tesla didn’t reply. Jung smiled and his eyes closed. The pair fell asleep under the fading midnight sky, dawn creeping in as they slumbered, unknowing of time’s passing…

  
  
  


Tesla’s late night excursions were hardly a secret, just another eccentricity the team had to deal with. It didn’t stop Albert from being worried when Tesla didn’t show for breakfast. He and Darwin set out to scour the streets of London for their human battery, and were pleasantly surprised to find him in a park. They were less pleasantly surprised by the fact that he was sleeping on a park bench, leaning against Carl Jung. 

Darwin chose to not question it. Albert chose to simply voice his questions later on, when he could corner Tesla and interrogate him on his sudden kinship with Freud’s rival. The two parted without speaking, though Albert noticed there were a lot of furtive glances snuck between the two, a flush that settled on both their cheeks, and an excessive amount of throat clearing. 

Darwin told the team that Tesla had simply lost track of time during his walk and fallen asleep, on his lonesome, in the park. 

Tesla was sure that Tapputi and Freud didn’t buy it, because they kept snickering and whispering crude jokes to themselves about his late night activities. It didn’t matter. Tesla ignored them, and went on with his day with a strange spring in his step. While a few hours of sleep always left him quite energized, he was surprised to find that the six or so hours he’d managed to get with Jung left him positively bouncing off the Clock Tower walls. That only led to more disgusting jokes from Freud, of course, but he did his best to pay the psychiatrist as much mind as anybody usually did. 

Jung found himself feeling similarly refreshed. Six hours of sleep was more than he’d managed in several days! He got around to apologizing to his receptionist, bless her heart for being so understanding, and was relieved when she accepted it. When she asked what had him in such a good mood, he simply shrugged and said he’d gotten a better night's sleep. Nobody else had to know that said night’s sleep was better because of the company he’d kept right up until falling asleep. While he was quite sure there were several conclusions one could come to for his ease of sleeping with a man, Jung didn’t quite feel like opening up that can of worms today. So he took on the day with a newfound zeal! 

He just ignored the fact that he couldn’t just hope to stumble upon Tesla every night he couldn’t sleep. 

  
  



	4. Pigeon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are few things in the world that Tesla loves more than his pigeons. Freud questions that love one day, in an attempt to get the man to speak. It doesn’t go perfectly.

They sat in relative silence. Freud was accustomed to Tesla’s aloofness in therapy sessions, but his distance had become something dark in the past weeks. It was the first time Freud truly felt worried for him. None of his tried and true theories could apply here. How could they? Tesla had lost his entire arm on some rogue mission, and for what? 

_ For a bird? _

Freud couldn’t make heads or tails of it. He’d known about Tesla’s fascination with pigeons.  _ Everyone  _ knew about it. Darwin had found common ground with Tesla on that, the shared love for the feathered beasts that took to the skies. Even Darwin couldn’t get much out of Tesla these days. Tesla had withdrawn into himself. He had drawn shut the curtains of his mind, and hadn’t even touched a schematic since the accident. It worried everyone. It  _ especially  _ worried the young Einstein. Not only was the team adrift without their lightning rod, Einstein had become lost without the strange paternal figure at his side. 

_ “I-I don’t ever know what to say to him, Dr. Freud,” Albert admitted. He picked at the loose threads of his jeans idly, tears swimming in his eyes and blurring his vision. “When his shoulder got infected, I was so scared. I... I thought he would d-die,” he whispered.  _

_ “But he didn’t,” Freud interjected, speaking gently to the upset child.  _

_ “But I don’t think he’s really alive, either!” Albert snapped.  _

_ “He is processing a great loss in his own way, Einstein. He needs time, perhaps space. A sapling cannot grow into a mighty oak if it is choked out by weeds,” Freud said. He winced, because now the kid was giving him a look like he’d torn out his own beating heart. “Einstein-“ Freud began, reaching out towards him. He jerked himself back, and ran out the office. _

... In all fairness, Freud supposed that he couldn’t be expected to help Tesla when he hadn’t helped young Einstein much. He looked at the clock, desperate for anything that could take his mind off that look the kid had given him. He found it in the time. Three minutes left to their hour. Dammit! He couldn’t let another session go to waste like this! All he’d done the past few weeks was talk  _ at  _ Tesla, instead of being able to talk  _ to  _ him. What was he supposed to do? What could be done when his patient refused to speak to him? To even  _ look  _ at him? 

“Was it worth it?” Freud asked. The question seemed to surprise himself as much as it surprised Tesla. His head jerked up, the fog clearing from his eyes long enough to focus on Freud’s. “Was all of this...” Freud began, taking advantage of the moment as he pressed on. “Was it worth it? For a pigeon?” he finished. The questions had exploded from his mouth, each one visibly affecting the patient. At the first, Tesla had looked up. At the second, he had winced. At the third, he pushed himself up and out of the chaise lounge. 

“... It doesn’t matter,” Tesla whispered. His voice was weak, the slight rasp of parchment against parchment as he forced his vocal chords to work. 

“Yes it does. You know it does,” Freud said, his eyes narrowing as the accusatory tone trickled into his words. “Was that bird worth losing your arm? Was it worth being hospitalized, Tesla? Was it worth terrifying  _ everyone  _ in the goddamned team?” he snapped, shoving away from his desk. In a moment, he was toe-to-toe with one of the most deadly men in London. 

“What do you want me to say?!?” Tesla yelled, glaring at the psychiatrist. The sudden harshness gave Freud pause, and he hesitated in replying. “Do you want me to say I regret it? That I wished I’d  _ never  _ agreed to work with Bell and the others? That I hadn’t tried to save Pigeon?” he asked, his voice getting louder with every question. “It doesn’t  _ matter _ ! It’s already done! I can’t change the fact that I went rogue! I can’t change the fact that I tried to save Pigeon! I can’t change  _ anything  _ about what happened!” he cried, his voice cracking.

“Tesla, if you just-“ Freud began, reaching out toward the inventor. 

“No! No,” Tesla replied, taking a deep, shuddering breath before he ran his hand through his hair. “... Time is up. I will not be returning for next week’s session. I am retiring for the afternoon,” he said. He gave Freud a curt nod, and left the room. The psychiatrist called after him, weakly, feebly, somehow knowing the inventor wouldn’t answer him either way. He stood in his office. Alone.

_ Down the hall, someone else stood alone. _

Albert had heard the shouting. Part of him had wanted to barge into Freud’s office, see what had upset them both so badly that they felt the need to raise their voices so much. A larger part of him was terrified to see what had driven the two to shout at each other. That larger part had won out, in the end, and Albert found himself cowering under his blankets. Atticus warbled quietly in his cage. Eventually, Albert got out of bed. He walked to the cage and opened it, a ghostly smile gracing his face as he held out a shaky hand to the finch. Atticus cocked his head to the side, then lit upon Albert’s pointer finger. 

“H-hey there, little buddy,” Albert whispered. He moved back to his bed slowly, and wrapped the blanket around him loosely. “Hope all the screaming didn’t bother you, Atticus,” he said, offering the bird an apologetic grin. Atticus stared at him, and fluttered his wings a moment before he settled up on Albert’s shoulder. He giggled as the finch nestled in, that earlier fear fading fast. 

“... You’ve taken a real shine to Atticus, haven’t you?” Tesla asked. Albert nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden question, his eyes widening to the size of dinner plates as he looked over at his doorway. Tesla hung just outside it, Pigeon resting on his left shoulder. 

“Um... Y-yeah, I really like Atticus,” Albert replied, clearing his throat gently to get rid of the crack in his voice. “He’s really friendly, a-and he makes cool noises when he sings,” he added. Tesla nodded. 

“Is… Is it okay if I come in?” Tesla asked. 

“Yeah! Y-yeah, it’s okay,” Albert replied, unable to keep himself from grinning. Tesla walked into the room, his eyes drifting around the walls as he took in the sight of the new posters. 

“You’ve done some decorating,” he commented. “It looks very nice,” he added, coming to a stop near the foot of the bed.

“... Are you okay?” Albert asked. For once, the question didn’t make Tesla tense up. He offered the kid a weak grin, and sat down on the bed. 

“I think I’m as okay as I can be,” Tesla admitted. His smile faltered, and he glanced over at Albert. Questions of his own raced through his head. Questions he wasn’t sure if he really wanted the answers to, not yet. He settled on a simple one. “Would you like to join Darwin and I for a walk in the park?” he asked. “We’re going to feed the pigeons,” he explained. Albert all but jumped at the opportunity to spend time with his favorite teammate. 

“That would be awesome, da-dude!” Albert exclaimed. His face reddened, and he held his breath a moment. Waited. He was certain he’d see…  _ Something _ . Something that would show that Tesla heard what he’d nearly said. Tesla only smiled, though, and Albert let out a relieved sigh. “When are we leaving?” he asked, pushing past the embarrassment. Tesla froze, his eyes widening slightly. 

“... As soon as I actually ask Darwin if he’d like to go bird-feeding with us”, he replied, coughing into his hand. “I realized I hadn’t exactly asked him,” he said. Tesla stood up, grinning sheepishly as Pigeon cooed at him quietly. “Go ahead and get dressed, it’s chilly. We’ll come around when we’re ready, okay?” he said. Albert nodded, and Tesla left. As it turned out, Darwin was happy to be invited for a bird-feeding trip! He filled the short walk to the park with excited chatter about the newest additions to the local flock. Tesla listened, though he found himself watching more. 

Albert’s eyes were lit up with joy. He seemed to hang off of Darwin’s every word, and Tesla realized he must’ve not been on one of these walks in a long while. He decided to worry about that later. Right now, things were happy. He’d let them stay happy, even if it only lasted an hour or so. The curtains hadn’t been fully drawn back, but he had found himself at least peeking out at the world. 

_ Tesla supposed that was as good a start as any.  _

Going to feed the pigeons in the park. 


	5. Electricity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short Dadsla piece! Tesla was born from electricity, and to it he would return. Post 2099 comic!

From electricity Tesla was born, and to electricity he would be returned to. It was what made him the hero he had become. It was what made his name worth remembering. The research, the experiments, the schematics, the wins, and the losses. The many,  _ many  _ losses. 

This was just another loss he’d have to shake off. 

Tesla didn’t die. Not really, he decided. The religion built around him still flourished. The people who mattered kept him in their hearts and in their thoughts. Could he truly be dead if he was still remembered? Remembered  _ fondly _ , even! No. As long as someone said his name, or lit a candle in honor of him during a lightning storm, he would live on. He would live on in the eyes of an ancient chemist, who would smile and chuckle to herself when she thought of the tall, awkward inventor who’d helped save the world. He would live on in what was left of Darwin’s mind, forever the bird-watching enthusiast who helped him take care of his finches. Freud… Well, Tesla could accept being forgotten by him. Even at his best, they had struggled to get along. 

_ Albert.  _

That was the one thing Tesla regretted most about being forced to leave the physical plane. How he’d left behind his son-now an adult-on the same day the team had lost their leader. He did what he could to give him a childhood back during World War II. There had even been a couple brief years of peace, spent together in a cozy apartment Tesla had been able to call his own. Those were the moments he looked back on with bittersweet euphoria. The moments where he and Albert were simply able to exist. To be human. To attempt to, at least, as human as two superheroes ever could be. 

Tesla would always be proud of his boy. The one with the patchy beard, and the wild head of white hair, who ran impossibly fast. The one who had finally found his place amongst the team as Albert, and not as Einstein. The one who followed in his footsteps after the Z3 Rebellion and took in a forsaken child of his own. How could he not be proud of him? Tesla watched over them both from the strange plane of existence he now embodied. 

_ He was born from electricity, and returned to it in death.  _

Truly, he couldn’t think of a more fitting end to his life. 


	6. Chemical Element

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marie Curie. That is all.

_ Who was she without Pierre? _

It was a question that bothered Marie Curie more and more as she grew older. Her entire identity had changed the moment they married. She was no longer Marie Salomea Skłodowska, the proud Warsaw-born woman from an impoverished family. No, now she was Marie Skłodowska Curie. The naturalized French woman who tried her best to keep her young daughters steeped in her own culture through teaching them the language and taking them to visit the countryside. She fought to be heard and recognized by those around her, but still needed the voice of her darling Pierre to be acknowledged as a scientist. Then he was gone. 

Killed in a street accident while crossing the Rue Dauphine. The only small comfort Curie had been able to cling to was that he didn’t suffer, that he died the moment he fell under the cart and got hit by one of the wheels. She couldn’t imagine her beloved hurting like that, his skull fractured and piercing into his own mind. She worried she would drown in her own grief after the funeral. Irène was just a young girl of nine, and Ève… She was only two. Not even old enough to have her own true memories of her father, living off of second-hand memories her older sister and mother could give to her. Marie was left to pick up the pieces on her own. She still had to work to support her little family. 

Marie Curie white-knuckled through the first five years of widowhood. She buried herself in her work. She received the Elliott Cresson Medal in 1909 for the discovery of radium. It was awarded to Pierre posthumously. A discovery they’d made together, with the reward only being held by her. She kept his medal tucked away in his drawer. The Albert Medal from 1910 was hers and hers alone. Again, for the discovery of radium. It felt strange to have it only be accredited to her. The Nobel Prize in Chemistry came in 1911. It felt fair for that one to be hers, because polonium had been her discovery. She named it after her home country. Some small, worried part of her hoped it would secure the legacy of her great country. 

_ One that was torn apart a scant three years later.  _

Even though Poland had no stake in The Great War, it was unfortunate enough to be in the middle of it all. Marie Curie hadn’t prayed for years, having given up her faith as a young girl. She found herself wishing for the safety of those who lived back home. She no longer had a rosary of her mother’s to clutch at, so she held her daughters close to her at night and hoped she could keep them safe. It was shortly after The Great War ended that the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom approached her. 

He called him Churchill, and told her that her help was needed in the future. Marie Curie had been ready to decline, her hands clenched into fists and jaw tight from a silent rage that had been building since the death of her Pierre. Had she not done enough already? Hadn’t she deserved to watch her daughters grow and become the intelligent women they were today? All the rage turned to ice-water in her veins when Churchill explained there wouldn’t be a future for her daughters. 

“We’re in another war of the worlds, Madam Curie,” he said, puffing at a cigar for a moment. “Germany bombs Paris. They kill innocent men, women, and children by the dozens. If you don’t join us, then there’s a likely possibility that what remains of your family could be one of those innocents lost,” he explained. 

“... We will move back to Warsaw, to my real home,” Marie Curie protested, glancing over at the dimly lit hallway that led to her daughters bedroom. 

“Poland isn’t safe either. Nowhere in Europe is safe, Madam Curie. You would be in grave danger if you were to return home,” Churchill warned. The deep lines etched into his face relaxed a moment, and he took a sip from his flask. “... I work with the Allied Forces to end this damnable war. I’ve gathered others like you, with incredible powers to their names. You already know one of them,” he said. That caught Marie Curie’s attention, and her eyebrow arched in a silent question. “Einstein has already agreed to assist in our efforts. He recommended you personally,” he elaborated. 

“... Albert Einstein?” Marie Curie asked. Churchill nodded. 

“He said if I needed a real firebrand, to look no further than the endless spirit contained inside one of history’s strongest women,” Churchill said, grinning as he quoted the scientist. Marie Curie crossed her arms, trying to fight away the smile that threatened to break her stoic appearance. 

“If I am to fight, I will need someone to care for my girls. Irène is too busy with her work and studies to care for Ève,” Marie Curie finally said. 

“But of course! Time travel is still a finicky business, so you might be away for years on our end and only be gone a few days for your children. Just in case, I have made arrangements for your children to be cared for in your absence,” Churchill said. Marie Curie nodded, finally relaxing. “You… Cannot tell them where you are truly going,” he added. 

“I know,” Marie Curie stated, sighing quietly. “It wouldn't be worth scaring them with talk of another war to tell them the truth. I leave for business, and business alone. As far as they are concerned, I am safely tucked away in some small hostel for a convention,” she said. It was Churchill’s turn to raise an eyebrow, and he chuckled around his cigar. 

“You’d make an excellent politician, the way you lie so easily,” he commented. “I’ll give you a week to pack and introduce your girls to the housekeeper we’ll provide. I’m quite sure they’ll enjoy the company of Ms. Peterson. She comes with  _ excellent  _ recommendations,” he said. Marie Curie nodded absentmindedly, her mind already preoccupied with thoughts of this new future. 

_ To use her powers to fight off the same bastards who tore her home country apart in the first war?  _

Marie Curie grinned. She could think of no better use for the chemical elements than a little personal revenge.

  
  



	7. Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some say revenge is a dish best served cold. Philipp’s revenge was served out of a microwave with an expired warranty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a more in depth Philipp chapter later on, promise!! He’s too fun a villain to only get this baby chapter.

Philipp glanced down at his shirt. He brushed his hand against the bullet wounds gingerly, his eyes already becoming glassy when his fingers came away stained with his own blood. 

“Mama…” he choked out. He collapsed to his knees, hearing the dull clattering of his gun against the train as it fell from his hand. It sounded faraway, as if he were underwater. “I… I’m comin’ home,” he whispered. He slumped over, his body falling off the train. He watched-eyes fixated somewhere on the distant horizon-as the world began to turn and darken around him. He was dying. He couldn’t escape it. He had insisted he head out alone. That he be the one to finally kill each and every last one of those damned Super Science Friends. Maybe he should’ve heeded Obergruppenfüher Ploetz’ words, and let a few of the stronger Nazi clones tag along. No, he thought, smiling bitterly. It would’ve only tarnished his victory. To know that he couldn’t have done it on his own, and needed the help of those soulless bodies Obergruppenfüher Ploetz commanded... 

_Why, where was the sport in that?_

It was fitting that Philipp would die alone in the desert. He hit the ground hard, the world finally coming to a stop as the train rumbled by. Hadn’t this whole scheme of revenge been born of his unwilling solitude? Yes, he decided, closing his eyes, it was best that he die alone. No clones to drag him to safety. Nobody to patch up his wounds. Nobody to see as a lone tear trickled down his cheek. It carved a track in the stubborn dust that had long ago settled onto his face. As quick as it had appeared, it was gone. Dried up fast by the heat of the sun. No evidence of his weakness. Good. 

_Philipp smiled, and breathed his last._

The clones found his body as the sun began to set. Blood had dried and crusted over his shirt, leaving behind a stain that was easily mistaken for rust. They knew better. They hauled his broken, still body back to camp in silence. A dark shadow fell over Obergruppenfüher Ploetz’ face at the sight of the dead leader. 

“... We must send for ze others, quickly,” he commanded. His words were steady, a barked order that had the clones snapping to attention before they ran off, but his hands shook as he poured himself a shot of whiskey. “I’ll get revenge on those damned Super Science Friends if it’s ze last thing I do,” he muttered, scowling before he threw back the drink. 

_“We will find another to lead us.”_


End file.
